


After We Fall

by VERDlGRlS



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Little bit of Tyrion, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-12-17 19:06:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11857782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VERDlGRlS/pseuds/VERDlGRlS
Summary: How can she ever let him know how he made her feel--respected, comforted, loved?At home.All the houses she'd allied with from Westeros came to her because they wanted revenge over their own enemies. They called her "Your Grace" in the throne room but still they made her feel like a total stranger. Jon Snow called her "My Queen" in the quiet of his cabin, with no one but himself and Daenerys to hear.He made her feel at home.She couldn't allow herself to think these things yet, but she could let her actions tell him for her.***Oneshot about what I think happens in between S07 Episodes 6 and 7. If you haven't seen the leaks (episodes and scripts) or don't like spoilers, I advise you to read at your own risk!





	After We Fall

**Author's Note:**

> [SPOILERS] [IF YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT'S HAPPENING IN S07 DON'T READ THIS]
> 
> This is my little ode to Jon and Daenerys. I never really thought about how BEAUTIFUL this ship is and now that the show's going in this direction I've realized that I am completely on board. I haven't written fanfic in so long (literally, YEARS) and this is also my first ao3 work BUT I really wanted to write something for Jon/Daenerys because I think the show's gonna go right through to the plot and these are the moments I like to think happened in between that we don't really get to see. So here is the product of twelve hours of rewatching season 7 + Dany's HoTU visions, and nonstop writing--hope you enjoy! :)

It had been three days since their ship returned from Eastwatch-by-the-Sea. Everyone in Dragonstone had seen her leave on dragonback, with all thought of fear and caution falling deep into the crags of rock below. No one needed to ask why she returned with only two.

So Daenerys had been allowed to keep to herself, only coming out of her small council's chamber to eat and sleep, and only being joined by her advisors for the daily meetings. There was no sign of Jon Snow.

She stood up from her place beside the hearth, swilling the Essosi red she held in the goblet in her hand before taking a long sip. The great map of Westeros loomed before her, reminding her of the game she had been playing. She had the great houses of Tyrell, Martell, and Greyjoy behind her back. She had a fleet carrying the freed army of Unsullied, freed men and women who called her "Mhysa", and a khalasar of Dothraki that worshipped her strength. She had been so close _, so close_ , to conquering King's Landing. And she had three dragons.

It was cruel, how Viserion had been the first to go. Tears welled again in Daenerys' eyes; for all this time, there was only one memory embedding itself into her heart. It was her child, so many moons ago, sitting at her feet. Viserion had almost been purring like a small cat as it asked her to rub its belly, while its brothers fought in the air over a herd of sheep. Viserion had been the smallest and the gentlest of them, had been the least bloodthirsty whenever they hunted, or whenever their mother beckoned them to use their flame.

When he fell beyond the Wall, Daenerys didn't hear her heart shattering like the skulls of the undead around them crackling into ash. She didn't even hear the anguished cries of Rhaegal and Drogon as their brother crashed into the ice and fell into a sea of fire and blood. _So very cruel_ , Daenerys thought to herself. She didn't hear the gasps of terror from the men she'd just saved. No, what she heard back then were the screams of her own brother Viserys, as Drogo poured over his head the golden crown he'd always wanted. So different from each other and yet in death exactly the same.

The tears no longer fell. Daenerys refuses to let them.

Someone clearing their throat woke her from her reverie. She spun, intending to put on the mask of the Queen that she was once again but found that she didn't need to. Tyrion Lannister knew her vulnerabilities even without her voicing them. Yet she had grown so used to seeing him with a goblet or a flagon in hand that the wine-less Hand of the Queen standing in the doorway surprised her some. He didn't move and said nothing, but they'd shared enough stretches of silence between them for her to know it was important.

Daenerys gave him a small nod. Tyrion walked into the hall with the selfsame tension in everyone who'd since approached her, but there was a perceptible layer of resolve in his countenance that only Tyrion could dare show in her presence. His apprehension unnerved her some, but comforted her as well. The thing she admired most about her Hand was that he could be honest with her.

"I'm assuming you're not here to talk about war tactics," Daenerys said coolly, wanting to make the exchange as natural as their conversations used to be. Tyrion took his place beside the hearth and steepled his hands beneath his chin. Daenerys gestured to the wine goblet in her hand, but he only shook his head.

"You can say they're about war tactics a little, Your Grace," he said. Daenerys raised an eyebrow. "To be honest, I'm curious about what happened on that boat between you and Jon Snow."

"And how is this about war tactics in any way, my Lord?" Daenerys took the seat in front of Tyrion beside the hearth again, incredulity coloring her face.

"Well, seeing as neither of you had left your chambers except for bare necessities, it's a bit worrisome if we're about to lose a crucial alliance with the North due to some unknown quarrel between yourselves…"

Daenerys' eyes widened at that. She'd assumed that he wasn't well enough yet to dine with the rest of the castle or join the small council meetings. Besides, Dragonstone was huge. There was no reason for them to see each other all the time, especially since Daenerys had holed herself up in here.

"… or if he's planning something sinister up in that room of his, that would be worrisome too," Tyrion went on.

"He's never left his chamber all this time?" she asked, a bit too quick to escape notice, Daenerys was sure.

"No, Your Grace. But he's mending well enough. I've been up to his quarters quite a few times and I must say his behavior has indeed piqued my curiosity."

"That's good to hear. We need strong men if we're to fight this war," Daenerys said, keeping her eyes on the flames to ignore Tyrion's baiting.

"Indeed. Jon Snow is more famous in the North for his skill with a sword than with his words." Tyrion gave her a small smile. "And yet every time I've been up there, he's asked about you."

 _Damn him for being so clever._ "I don't know what you're talking about."

"I just want to know if this is a problem we need to worry about. You know as well as I do that the North is… important to us," Tyrion said. _He means Jon Snow is important to me._ Daenerys hadn't yet informed any of her small council that Jon had bent the knee to her on the boat. It didn't seem right to say it to them without him there. Besides, after all that she'd seen and all that had occurred? Everything that happened on that boat had been a tender memory she didn't want to share with anyone yet but Jon Snow.

Daenerys looked Tyrion in the eye then, hoping to convince him. "I ensure you that it won't be."

Still, she wondered if it was true. There was something there that she didn't want to name. In the quiet of his cabin, with only the waves of the Blackwater splashing softly against the boat, she opened herself up completely to another person--a thing she hadn't done since her brief time as Drogo's wife. She didn't even let anyone know that she was called Dany in her youth. And yet how did Jon Snow, a man she barely knew, find it in him to call her the name her brother had so often used? And how, in that brief meeting of minds, did she find it so hard to let go of another person's hand because when he provided her with so much comfort?

She only stayed beside him because she felt she had to be the one to tell him when he woke. That she finally understands now, and she's going to do everything she can for the realm. She had left him then with more questions and Daenerys wasn't sure if she wanted them answered just yet.

 

***

 

Tyrion left her to be alone with her thoughts again. She had enough on her mind without him confusing it any more than necessary. _But Daenerys had to think about this if she wanted to move on from it._ Tyrion had seen how the two behaved around each other during Jon Snow's stay in Dragonstone. The moment Jon laid eyes on Daenerys Targaryen to how he looked at her on the beach while they said goodbye had to be the most interesting phenomenon Tyrion had observed since coming back from Essos. He wasn't there to see all of it transpire but he knows that Jon's awe at Daenerys' exploits has since evolved into respect and admiration. Neither is Daenerys unaffected by him despite her claims; Tyrion had seen the Queen leave a man who loved her for a throne across the sea, but he never thought she would risk her own life for a Northman who refused to bend the knee. Whatever those two had seen beyond the Wall, it had changed everything between them.

Tyrion walked back to the throne room, only to see Jon Snow already halfway across it.

"Jon Snow," he merely said. Jon Snow gave him a small nod, as if he had been out of bed all this time. Tyrion didn't need to be a greenseer to know what he was up to. "The Queen is in the small council chamber," Tyrion offered.

"Thank you," Jon Snow replied.

 _Those two are more alike than they realize._ Tyrion only hoped they would figure it out before winter ends.

 

***

 

Daenerys stared out into the sea, downing the rest of her wine. She turned, setting down the goblet on the point of the map of Westeros where the vast north loomed a dark gray. There was a great deal of distance between what lay beyond the Wall and Dragonstone. But she knew they were running out of time. The Night King had seen the strength of the living in her dragons; Daenerys knew it. She did not want to wait for whatever else the insidious army could come up with before they could secure the Westerosi hosts.

The sound of footsteps carried across the silent hall. "Tyrion, I--" Daenerys stopped short when she saw a shadow of raven black hair, the glimmer of a silver breastplate emblazoned with two wolves.

"Jon," she said, voice barely a whisper. She tried to ignore that she hadn't called him "Lord" or "Jon Snow."

He looked well enough to walk. He stood at the doorway with his hands at his sides. She didn't realize how much she'd missed his rough and rugged Northern presence until she'd seen him standing on his feet again.

"My Queen," he said, walking towards her. Daenerys felt something shatter within herself at hearing those words once more, spoken with a tenderness and reverence she never knew.

When Jon had said them in the boat, it had felt like they stayed there for good. But hearing them _here_ , in Dragonstone, where only a few weeks ago he'd refused? Daenerys couldn't help but feel the true weight of those words. Here he was entrusting her with the lives of his people, of all the North who'd pledged their lives to _him_. And when Jon had said them, he made her feel like he was talking truly to Daenerys; not the last Targaryen, not the foreign dragon queen.

 _I really hope I deserve it, Jon Snow_. All her life, Daenerys had been so sure--of her birthright, her abilities, her power to get what she wants. Everywhere she went, people knelt because she was Daenerys Targaryen. Mother of Dragons. Breaker of Chains. The Unburnt. Not Jon Snow though.

The weight of his words loomed heavy on her shoulders because Jon Snow was the man she never wanted to disappoint. His trust and loyalty meant so much more now that she'd seen what he'd seen.

Daenerys smiled. "I'm glad you're well. Lord Tyrion has just told me you were on the mend," she said, motioning for him to have a seat.

Instead, Jon kept walking, coming to a stop in front of her. "And are you?" he asked, his deep brown eyes searching hers. "Well?"

Daenerys gave him a small nod, but her breath caught somewhere between her heart and her throat.

"I wanted to apologize… for overstepping my boundaries. At the cabin," Jon said. He looked uncomfortable, but he didn't look embarrassed. Almost as if he was as confused as Daenerys had been these past few days.

"You didn't," Daenerys reassured him. How can she ever let him know how he made her feel--respected, comforted, loved? _At home._ All the houses she'd allied with from Westeros came to her because they wanted revenge over their own enemies. They called her "Your Grace" in the throne room but still they made her feel like a total stranger. Jon Snow called her "My Queen" in the quiet of his cabin, with no one but himself and Daenerys to hear.

He made her feel at home.

She couldn't allow herself to think these things yet, but she could let her actions tell him for her. Daenerys closed the distance between them and took his hand in hers, just as he had done. Jon responded by stroking circles on her hand with his thumb before letting go.

Both of them seemed like they didn't know what to say next. The tension was palpable, almost as if there had been a dragon in the room, breathing heavily down their necks. Daenerys looked at the goblet in front of her and wished it was still full to the brim so she could hide her fears behind her sweet summerwine.

"So. 'A knife to the heart'," Daenerys said. "Didn't seem like much of a figure of speech to me."

"I'll tell you that story when you tell me how you got 'The Unburnt'," Jon quipped with a chuckle. 

Daenerys let out a small laugh. "I'm surprised you haven't asked anyone about that yet. It's quite a long story, and not a very happy one too. We'll need a bit of wine for that one."

"Aye, I'll toast to that."

_Man of sword over words indeed._

Silence again stretched between them, but this time Daenerys was overcome with the reflection of how similar their lives seemed. Jon Snow was a bastard who rose to become King in the North. She was an exile, a beggar princess who had endured every possible hardship before she awoke the dragon in her. They'd both lost family in a war they didn't want to fight. They would both do what they can to protect their people.

_And will that be enough to save them?_

 

***

 

Jon gazed at the vast sea in front of him, watching the waves crash into the sand. Down south, the danger of winter felt eons away. Beside him stood Daenerys, who had seemed so lost in thought it was like she'd flown off into her own world and left all of them there in Dragonstone.

Small council meetings got shorter as the trip to Kings' Landing drew nearer. Afterwards, it had become routine for them to spend the moments after the council adjourned together. It was odd, because the first time Jon Snow gathered the courage to see her here, he was afraid of what he'd see. He didn't really want to apologize--gods, he didn't really know what to say to her. Just that he knew they were on the cusp of something and that he wanted to see for himself if she felt the same, even without her saying it.

He found himself looking forward to these moments now. She would ask him about the Wall and the Nights' Watch, about the wights and the walkers, about wildlings. Sometimes, she would ask about the North, wanting to learn as much as she can about the people; or she would ask about the realm, about the Westeros that she never experienced as a child.

Jon learned things about Daenerys through these little talks. He learned that her mother tongue was High Valyrian, and that her favorite free city as a child was Braavos. He learned that she had eaten a horse's heart _raw._ He learned that she was sold by her brother--the same brother who'd called her Dany and was Viserion's namesake--as a bride to a Dothraki _khal_ , and that she'd gotten the dragon eggs as a wedding gift. He figured that each dragon was named after a person she'd lost who had made her strong.

And he told her that he used to be a man of the Night's Watch but that part of him had always wanted to sail beyond the Narrow Sea, to taste the warmth of a land with no snow. He told her about being raised as a bastard in a lord's home, with no true place to call his own. He told her about Ghost. He didn't have many stories that didn't involve bloody battles.

Most people left Daenerys and Jon alone. None of them had seen what both of them had seen. That first day, Jon tried to leave when Daenerys started flying off into her thoughts, as she now frequently did, but she'd insisted on him staying.

"I need you here, Jon," was all she said. Jon tried not to dwell on how his heart caught in his chest and how his lungs felt afire at seeing her lips wrap around his name like a prayer. _She's still grieving and needs a friend who understands. Don't get ahead of yourself_ , he chastised.

Jon couldn't hide it to himself anymore after that day in the cabin. "She has a good heart," was an understatement to how he really felt about Daenerys Targaryen. That first day he was at Dragonstone, he was awestruck. She was the most beautiful woman in the world, with her silver hair, violet eyes, and a resolve that could burn through the greatest of men. He may know nothing else about her, but he wasn't blind.

After speaking to her advisors and supporters, seeing how they loved and respected their Queen, how they fought valiantly for her because they truly believed in the world she wanted to build… Jon could see how different she was from her own kin and from every ruler who had played god on the Iron Throne.

And then Daenerys Targaryen, who hardly knew him, rode her three dragons beyond the Wall to save a band of men she'd known were on a fools' quest--alone, fearless, against the wisdom of her advisors. She had risked her life and lost even more. Jon couldn't leave his room without remembering how Daenerys looked as one of her dragons plummeted into the ice, or how he'd opened his eyes to a broken Queen.

And then Jon knew, the moment she left him in that cabin. How her absence pierced him more than the ice that settled in his flesh and bone. He loves her.

He loved her in the firelight in that dimly-lit cave. He loved her when he thought about her fighting Lannisters in a field of fire, wishing she would come back to her senses, wishing she was unhurt. He loved her when he was saying goodbye. He loved her when he wanted nothing more than to avenge her dead son, and save her, take her far, far away from there. He'd wished she never had to see any of it.

"The Wall is beautiful," Daenerys suddenly said.

"It is, in its own way," Jon replied.

"It felt wrapped in old magic."

"Your Hand once took a piss from the top of the Wall. So much for old magic."

Daenerys let out a soft laugh that sent warmth all through his veins. Jon couldn't get enough of it.

"It's nothing like any of my dreams, that's for sure."

Jon didn't miss the hint. "You've dreamt about the Wall?"

Daenerys looked away from the sea and back at him. She nodded. "When I was in the free city of Qarth, when my dragons were still no more than the size of small dogs, they were taken and imprisoned by a wizard in a place called the House of the Undying.

"I came there myself and I saw… visions. I didn't know what they mean--still don't know what they mean--but I remember seeing the Iron Throne. It was winter, and there was snow all over the throne room. The cries of my dragons pulled me away from there. That's when I saw the Wall."

Jon couldn't help but notice how her voice had gotten softer as she went. He knew somehow that she'd never talked about this to anyone.

"I saw a blue rose in a chink of ice. And beyond the Wall, a tent," she continued. "I walked towards it and when I entered, my dead husband and child were there--alive, begging me to stay. But I heard the cries of my dragons again, and then I knew it wasn't real.

"That's when I saw them. The wizard chained me with my children and told me I would live forever in the House of the Undying. My dragons were young but they knew their mother was in danger. They burned him with dragonfire and we escaped. It was the first time I'd told them ' _dracarys_ '.

"When Viserion fell, I only heard the voice of my brother, Viserys, the day I lost him. I couldn't do anything then--but part of me wanted him dead. And he died. When my son fell, I still couldn't do anything even as I wanted nothing more than to save him." Daenerys choked on the last word. Jon closed the distance between them and held her to his chest, where her sobs threatened to destroy his resolve.

 _I'm so sorry. I want to take it all back, I'm so sorry._ He wanted to say all these over and over again. But he knew that wasn't what Daenerys needed right now. Nothing he could say or do could bring back Viserion.

"When my life was in danger, my dragons never thought twice. Whenever I needed strength, their voices reminded me of who I am. What kind of a mother am I when I can't even do anything but watch as they die before my eyes? And what queen am I if I can't protect my people?"

Jon raised Daenerys' face to meet his own and stroked his thumb against her tear-stained cheek. The sight he beheld almost broke him. Daenerys' eyes, usually violet orbs aflame with ferocity, bore a deep sadness that he wanted to efface forever. "Listen," he said.

In all the time they spent together, she never once crumbled. Even back in the boat, Jon knew she'd been crying, but not once did a tear fall when she knew he was awake. He doubted she let herself cry even in the solitude of this room.

"We're going to defeat the Night King together," Jon reassured her. He gazed back at her and tried to tell the selfsame promise through his eyes. "We're going to fight--you and I, fire and ice. We're going to avenge your child and the realm. You will break the wheel and sit on the Iron Throne. And your dragons will roam the skies for generations to come."

Daenerys closed her eyes against his touch. She sighed deeply, her warm breath sending tingles along Jon's hand. _I love you_ , he wanted to say it so badly. But as she blinked back tears, Jon found himself overcome with another feeling--fear.

Fear for the depth of his feelings for this woman he held in his hands. Fear for the swiftness of it, how quickly she had teared him down. How vulnerable she made him. He feared for her life as much as he feared for his--maybe even more. But most of all, Jon feared for the little time they had. Fear that whatever their feelings were, the Long Night was still upon them. Nothing Jon did would be able to stop it. They will only ever have days, only ever have moments like this one.

_Why must I meet you in the dead of winter, Daenerys Targaryen?_

"Jon," Daenerys whispered. She lifted one of her hands from his embrace and placed it over his heart. She looked at her hand, as if feeling for his pulse, and underneath Jon could feel his scars burning under her gaze. Then she looked up at him with a knowing smile before pressing her cheek against his chest, an ear over her hands, over his scars, over his quickening heartbeat.

"My Queen." Jon loved saying those words. He loved how her face lit up whenever he said them.

It was perhaps the closest he could get. _For now_.


End file.
